Dune: House Cepeda
by Black Sword
Summary: Follow the path of House Cepeda, the loyal lieutenants of the Atreides Dukes...first ever Dune fic, R&R! New chapter added!
1. Introduction

Alright, let me make something clear. I don't own Dune. I am an avid reader, but Dune belongs to Frank Herbert and his son. I'm just making my own story in his universe. Everything in here except for certain characters, planets, events and philosophies belong to the Herbert Estate. So, don't sue me, because I'm too poor. And then, I'll go ahead and beat your ass legally on Jerry Springer for suing me. Here's a basic intro:

House Cepeda: a House Minor that has been loyal to the Atreides since the Battle of Corrin. My series of chapters and short stories are based on their story. They belong to me!  
House Atreides: a Great House that saved humanity from oppression against the living machines at the Battle of Corrin.

House Harkonnen: a Great House that is the sworn enemies of the Atreides. Harkonnens are sadistic and evil, compared to Atreides honor and loyalty. They were banished by the Atreides due to their cowardice at Corrin, and only recently returned to power.  
Butlerian Jihad: a fierce crusade started by Serena Butler, it culminated in the Battle of Corrin, which was humanity's victory against the living machines.  
House Corrino: the ruling House of the Imperium. The head generals of the Battle of Corrin, they take their name from that victory. First leg of the political tripod that makes up the Imperium.  
Imperial Sardaukar: the soldier-fanatics of House Corrino. One Sardaukar can take on ten ordinary conscripts.

Landsraad: parliament made up of the Great and Minor Houses of the Imperium. Second leg of the political tripod that makes up the Imperium.  
Spacing Guild: group that has a monopoly on banking and space travel. Use prescient Navigators to see a way across foldspace. Third leg of the political tripod that makes up the Imperium.

CHOAM: main company of the Imperium, handles everything from dunkey dung to spice mélange to Ixian technology. CHOAM directorships are the key to Imperium political power.  
Arrakis: home of the spice mélange and the Fremen. Fierce desert planet.  
Melange: spice found only on Arrakis. Melange has true geriatric properties. It also grants limited prescience and is very addictive.

Shield: force field that repels projectiles and blades except for a slow blade weapon. Lasguns that intersect shields produce clean atomics.  
Great Convention: body of laws and agreements that forbids certain actions. Chief among them is the use of atomics, which are maintained by all the Great Houses of the Landsraad in special reserve.

Ix: secretive planet that produces the most cutting edge technology. Ixian products are much desired in the Imperium.  
Richese: a beaten House and planet, it mainly produces cheap copies of Ixian technology.


	2. Default Chapter

Justice? Who asks for justice? We make our own justice. We make it here on Arrakis—win or die. Do you regret casting your lot with us, sir?

**--Duke Leto I**

The Arrakeen Spaceport had the functional design so common of the Spacing Guild. It was built for endurance, not luxury or eye appeal. Even on this sandblasted world, all was functionality, with none of the water preserving machines used by the natives.  The lean man who stood on the bridge of one of the Atreides super frigates noted this with a glance. _Arrogance in the utmost display_!

"Are you listening to me, Bashar Cepeda?" Thufir Hawat demanded, intruding on his analysis.

"Yes, sir. I hear you loud and clear," he replied, turning to examine this face he had known since childhood. It was an aged face, scarred with many Atreides campaigns and many battles. Marked with three generations of service to House Atreides. A noble face that spoke volumes of the fanatic loyalty the Red Dukes inspired. _Even I am not immune to it._

House Cepeda had fought alongside House Atreides since the days of the Butlerian Jihad and the Battle of Corrin. Though only a House Minor to House Atreides, their loyalty and ability had always been an asset. _Especially mine_, he thought humorously.

Taking a cue from the Bene Gesserit, his family had been breeding themselves for intelligence and strength for almost a millennium. He was a Mentat, and had been trained by a Swordmaster of Ginaz. He was the temporary peak of their breeding program, until he himself had children.

 And the Bene Gesserit had been crucial to that. Their uncounted generations of genetic refinement had saved them centuries of research. Lord Cepeda's had always purchased Bene Gesserit concubines, and bred sons, an odd occurrence, since most Bene Gesserit bore daughters at the command of their Sisterhood. _But we learned the Atreides nobility. Nothing fascinates the cynic more than a pure heart! We broke the Bene Gesserit bonds countless times. And the Sisterhood never even guessed!_

Thufir examined this young bashar again. One of the best in the Duke Leto's service, he was among the most loyal of the countless retainers. He had been chosen for this special raid mainly because of the loyalty of his House for the last ten thousand years, and their amazing abilities. _Even if some of those abilities reek of the witches…_

"How many Fremen did you convince to tag along with us, sir?"

Brought back to practical matters, Thufir resumed his briefing. "Some hundred are curious to see beyond their own world. Most came when I mentioned the possibilities of their seeing a sea."

"A sea? That's the persuasion you used to get one hundred renegades to leave their homeworld for a military operation?" the Bashar asked incredulously. _He_ must _be_ _joking_!

"That and the possibility of killing Harkonnens on their own homeworld, while freeing their slaves."

"Sir? Are you sure we should go? It's dangerous to abandon the Duke at such a perilous time."

Thufir shook his head. By order of the Padishah Emperor, House Atreides had left their paradise homeworld of Caladan for the trackless wastes of Arrakis. Dune, the Desert Planet. Though grim and unpleasant, it was the most precious jewel in the Emperor's crown, especially because of the single commodity it produced: the spice mélange.

"The Duke orders it, Bashar. You are to board the Heighliner and head toward Giedi Prime. Once there, our spies will give you the data on the Baron Harkonnen's hoard. You and I both know that if he keeps that much spice, he is a danger to the spice gathering operations here."

"Yes. He can sabotage all he likes, bring the wrath of the Emperor and his Sardaukar on House Atreides, supply the Great and Minor Houses, and recover Arrakis. I still do not like leaving Milord Duke like this."

A rare smile touched Thufir's lips. He knew all about the loyalty House Cepeda had for the Atreides Dukes. More than once, they had laid their lives down for the Atreides. This lad's grandfather had sacrificed his life for the Old Duke Paulus, the Duke Leto's father, during the Ecazi Revolt. In the process, he had killed Duke Dran Vidal, a leader of the rebels. This act had brought House Cepeda into a state of kanly against House Minor Vidal of Ecaz ever since. "It is too soon for any Harkonnen plans to bloom. There shall be plenty of action for you when you return, Bashar. You can leave with a clear conscience."

Bashar Adan Cepeda examined his soldiers. They had just blasted off from Arrakis and entered the Heighliner. Most of them were men who belonged to Duncan Idaho's group. He, himself, was one of the Swordmaster's trusted lieutenants. But one group of them was _not_ Idaho's. They wore the jubba cloaks and the blue-within-blue eyes of the Fremen. 

Silently, he reviewed what he knew of those mysterious people. _Fremen: tribes of nomads who have made Arrakis their home. Zensunni descent. Blue-within-blue eyes are a marker of total spice addiction. Men and women are equally ferocious fighters, possibly as fearsome as the Imperial Sardaukar. Hunted by the Harkonnen scum for sport. Potential allies, do _not_ anger them._

With military preciseness, he walked over to where they congregated. They were evenly split, fifty men and fifty women. More than one of his troopers had looked ready to try their charm on the Fremen women, but Adan had put an end to that with a single barked command. Clearing his throat, he waited for all of them to look at him.

"Welcome, Fremen of Dune," he began, aware that they examined him even as he spoke. He knew what they would see: a lean, broad-shouldered man with sharp features, hawk nose, thin face, and cold eyes. Brown hair, and color-shifting brown eyes, a water-fat offworlder. "I do not doubt that our customs differ, but I wish to ask your patience while we learn the ways of each other. I am the Bashar Adan Cepeda, Lord of House Cepeda, loyal vassal of the Duke Leto Atreides. Do you have one among you to speak for you?" 

One of the Fremen came forward. Adan's trained eyes noted the strength of the gait, a definite strut of a man born to lead. The Fremen, not much taller than him, stopped two paces in front of him. He wore the stillsuit underneath the jubba cloak. Removing the mouth guard, the man spoke to him. "I am the Naib Taman. I speak for my people. Why does your Duke wish us on this attack?"

The blunt command ignited Adan's rage for a moment before he let it go. Aristocratic arrogance might offend these proud nomads, and that would not do. "The Duke offers you a chance to avenge yourself on the Harkonnens by attacking their homeworld. He has no desire to allow House Harkonnen any respite from justice."

"You do not need us here, then. You can handle them yourself. Why were we brought here?"

Adan paused as he tried to think of something to appeal to this man. He recalled their Zensunni origins, and tried out one of the sayings he had learned. "Answers are a perilous grip on the universe. They can appear sensible yet explain nothing."

The Fremen stared at him in shock. Even their leader seemed unnerved. Reassessing the situation at lightning speed, he came to a startling conclusion: the Fremen retained the same fanaticism that the Zensunni had been known for. This dictated that he explore more of their beliefs, chiefly, the belief that the young Master Paul Atreides was a messiah. With some hesitation, he said, "We serve the Lisan al-Gaib. Do you, Naib?"

The man froze. So did his people. They stared at him as if he were a saint. The feeling made him mildly uncomfortable. At last, the Naib raised himself out of his religious stupor and asked, "Does the Mahdi test us in the land of his enemies?"

"The Mahdi wishes you to punish the heathens as a prelude to the conversion of the Imperium," he replied, knowing he was treading a thin line.

"His will be done," the Naib whispered, the words echoed by the others.

Mentat awareness warned Adan that he had most likely planted the seeds of a Jihad. _I hope the young Master is not who they believe. If he is, God help us._

"They're arrogant, the bastards," Adan muttered to his lieutenant. Gesturing, he pointed out the cause of this curse:  ship after ship was boarding the Heighliner, each one loaded with enemy troops. Monitor, crusher, frigate, troop carrier, lighters, dump-boxes…hundreds of ships!

"Get ready. We might have to…" he trailed off as he noted the arrival of the Fremen Naib. "Damnable hells. Why now?"

Taman stopped and once again evaluated the man. The features reminded him of the holograph Stilgar of Sietch Tabr had shown them of the Duke this man followed. Ability, loyalty, honor…this man could have been born a Fremen and not known it. But his water waste bothered him. They had all been treated to the luxuries these water-fat offworlders enjoyed: vibration showers to remove dirt, cool water not recycled from stillsuits, cold air that did not carry desert heat. In the week since they had embarked on the Heighliner, they had seen many worlds. The one that had made the greatest impression on the Fremen had been Buzzell. A world covered by water, with almost no land. Many had prayed to Shai-Hulud at the sight. And now they had arrived at their target. Giedi Prime, home of the demon rulers, the Harkonnens.

"Why do we not attack, Bashar?" Taban asked, curiosity present.

"Because we cannot win, Naib," Adan replied. "We must wait until they leave. Then, we strike their stockpiles and return to Arrakis before the Harkonnens can attack."

"Surely fear of death does not stay your hand. Why do you not fire on your shields with lasguns? That would destroy your enemy."

Horror appeared on the face of every man present on the bridge. The effect of a lasgun fired on shields produced clean atomics that would easily cripple the Heighliner. _Any_ attack on Guild Heighliners had been forbidden by the Great Convention, and would bring the vengeance of every power in space upon any violators. Adan finally spoke. "The effect of such an attack would have every House in the Imperium howling for Atreides blood. We would have to flee to Tupile to escape the hunters. And our orders were not to stop the Harkonnens. They were to wipe out the stockpiles."

" I see," Taman said, though he did not.

"Choose two Fremen, preferably female, Naib. Wear contact lenses. Blue-within-blue may be common on Arrakis, but not in the rest of the Imperium. We need to reach our contact, then use the information to strike. Then, we return to Arrakis."

"Deception. A good tactic we Fremen use. We are alike in this, Bashar."

"I did not doubt it, Naib. Come. The lighter ought be ready."

Shania tried not to gag. She had volunteered to join her brother Taman on this trip, but was already regretting it. The air here smelled of unclean things. Evil odors permeated, and her friend and brother shuddered at the disaster implied by this. The offworlder had explained to them that this world, Giedi Prime, was soaked with burned materials that produced bad smells. These square shapes and sharp corners were preferred by the Harkonnens, who no doubt would abandon this world once it had been used up and move on to another. In the meanwhile, it was a festering hellhole squeezed for all it was worth.

She also did like the lenses she wore over her eyes. She understood the need for stealth, but she did not wish to see things she should not. The eyes of Ibad gave the faithful clean sight, unlike the untinted eyes of the bashar. 

They followed the bashar into a bar, and watched as he led them to a table with an exit nearby. His eyes were searching, watchful for betrayal, and humorless. Before she could ask what he sought, she felt a man touch her arm.

Whirling, she saw a massive man, leering at her. "Hello, gorgeous," he slurred. "How's 'bout spendin' da night wit me? I can pay real good."

Adan turned to face the drunk. No doubt about it: the man had said the appropriate words in the right way. Now came the diversion. "Sorry, friend, but she's with me."

"So? Just offerin' her some extra business. What's a twit like you goin' do about it?"

Adan shrugged, noting the anger in Taman's face. With a finger signal, he told him to edge toward the exit. "Not much," Adan said with forced casualness, waiting until his fellows were out.  "Just this!"

The vicious punch sent the diversion flying into a group of patrons who had reached the surliness stage. They hurled him off their table with a roar. Another man snuck up behind Adan and tried to clobber him with a bottle: this one received a side kick that landed him in front of a group of thugs out looking for trouble. And soon the tavern was enveloped in the disorder of a bar fight… 

Taman stared at the chaos from the alley window. He was shocked at the way Adan was fighting. Moving quickly and efficiently, he was like a worm among Fremen, taking them before they could escape. Suddenly, a chair flew toward the window and shattered it. And out leapt Adan, graceful and with a smile. "Well, that was fun. I just hope it didn't scare off our contact."

"It didn't. Glad you made it."

Adan had turned to face the man, but the Fremen had already noticed he was there. With lightning speed, they grabbed him and held him. Silently, he studied the man. He was a grubby-looking man, his skin smeared by lubricants and grime despite evidence of cleaning up. "Are you Renno?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm Renno! Now tell these garbage scows to let go of me!" he growled.

To test this, he tried one of the code phrases. "How is Janess? Well, I hope."

As expected, a brief mask of grief flitted across the man's face to be replaced by pure loathing. "She is where the griffin cannot reach," he replied.

Satisfied, he gestured for the Fremen to release him. "Alright, Renno. No games. Where are the Baron's stockpiles?"

"What guarantees that you won't garrote me, eh?"

"You brought Duncan Idaho to Caladan. That is all the guarantee you need. Atreides gratitude for giving us our Swordmaster."

He watched as the understanding seeped into his face. The entire Atreides inner circle knew the story: the boy Duncan had been imprisoned with his family for some imagined slight. A woman named Janess Milam had betrayed them, and Duncan had been forced into a brutal training regimen. Training to be the Beast Rabban's prey on a hunt. At the Forest Guard Station, Duncan had outwitted and humiliated Rabban, the Baron's own nephew. He had then been rescued by Milam, who had taken him to Renno. Renno, second mate on a ship, had whisked the boy off Giedi Prime, and transported him to Caladan. Rabban, however, did not ignore Janess' role in his escape: she had been taken to Arrakis and fed to the worms, while the Baron and his nephew sadistically enjoyed her demise.

"The Baron's stockpiles? They are halfway across Giedi Prime. He stored them in Mt. Ebony, along with two brigades of his best troops." His eyes glittered with hatred. "Make him pay, Atreides. Make him pay."

"Why did you let him escape?" Taman demanded as soon as the contact had left. "A traitor cannot be trusted."

"Be silent, Taman. Didn't you hear the hatred in his voice when he said 'Baron'? He is part of the death tripod."

The Fremen all fell silent. Death tripod meant he was part of the brotherhood of hatred that would avenge themselves on the Baron. That meant he could be trusted in causing the Baron's demise. No more, and no less.

Onboard the frigate, Adan had redressed himself in his usual uniform of black and green, with its insignia: the red Atreides hawk gripping the red and pale green Cepeda shield. He stood with the unit commanders, and explained his plan to them.

"We'll be doing the unexpected. The troop carriers will set us down on Giedi Prime while our frigate and lighters blast their satellites. A secondary feint will wipe the top of Barony off," he said, mentioning the massive black plaz city that had imprisoned Idaho and his family and was still used as a slave camp by House Harkonnen. "They'll be blind and confused, and we can use the decoy attacks to lure them away from our own attack on Mt. Ebony. When we overwhelm the defenders, we'll have to make it look good. We'll be setting up a number of shields, and lasguns as well. When they're in position, we'll retreat and strike at one of their slave quarries. We'll rescue as many as we can, then return to space. On the return, we'll set off the lasguns and wipe out the stockpiles. We'll board the next Heighliner, and escape."

All the commanders nodded silent approval. Even his usually reserved lieutenant seemed animated. "We're ready to go Bashar."

"Then start us off, Bator Boont."

Nodding, he began a red alert. The troopers would even now be boarding their carriers. Taking up his sword, Adan trotted toward the carrier assigned the Fremen.

Naib Taman was not having a good day. It would be the second time in as many days he would be returning to that miserable foul-smelling planet, and all he longed for were the walls of his yali, his home, and the clean smells of Dune. This did not stop the feeling of excitement he felt about the upcoming battle. Soon, they would strike, and the Harkonnens would feel the Fremen knives.

"You look as happy as a man rushing to his enemy's funeral."

The interruption startled Taman. He turned around to see the bashar grinning at him as twenty or so of his troopers entered the carrier. Sitting down, the bashar activated his shield and checked the integrity of his weapons. "Why do you do this, Bashar?"

"Hate to have my weapon break while in the middle of the fight," Adan muttered. Raising his voice, he said, "Alright, listen up! We'll be landing on a hot zone. We have to move in and make it look we might be repulsed. We fake a retreat, but only after we activate the pseudo-atomics, and leave. We'll rescue some Harkonnen slaves, return to the frigate, and escape on the Heighliner due in-system in ninety minutes. Hear that? We have one hour to do this op in and go. Don't get left behind!"

Atmospheric buffeting stopped the Bashar's explanation. When it ceased, he took a deep breath and felt the lurch of gravity. "Get ready! It's almost go time."

"Bashar! Bator Boont has begun the attack!" the pilot yelled. 

Before he could reply, the troop carrier landed and started disgorging soldiers. Combat pods flew over them, providing cover, and more decoys for the enemy. Moving quickly, Adan exited the carrier and led his group up the slopes of the mountain.

Unsurprisingly, men in the blue livery of the House Harkonnen charged their positions, their shields active and weapons out. Activating his own personal shield, Adan shouted, "Long live the Duke!" a cry taken up by the other Atreides soldiers.

Moving quickly, Adan dealt death to the Harkonnen brigades, who were nowhere near as good as the crack troopers under his command. His sword and kindjal left death wherever he turned. But his performance was nothing compared to the Fremen's.

They were berserkers, ripping through the enemy lines with no regard for their own safety. They had refused the shields offered by the Atreides, and were fighting at the peak of their abilities. For every Harkonnen slain by an Atreides, the Fremen killed two. Soon, they had reached the inner cave complex. Moving swiftly, several quick-thinking Atreides troopers removed a long ton of mélange, while their comrades pushed the Harkonnens deeper and deeper. 

Even so, the Harkonnens had begun to rally, repulsing the Atreides. With a bark of battle language, Adan ordered them to abandon the fight and return to the carriers. The shields had been set up, and soon, the lasguns rigged to fire at a precise time would go off. To discourage pursuit, Adan's combat pods did bombing runs on the Harkonnens, forcing them to take refuge inside of the mountain. With a final glower, Adan took over the controls of his troop carrier and led them away from the mountain. 

Burseg Kryubi glared at the enemy ships retreat. He had served the Baron for almost forty years as a loyal soldier. No doubt they had been after the spice stockpiles hidden in the mountain. His troops had barely managed to push them back out from the inner facilities, and the Atreides soldiers would probably make for space. Heading toward the communication board to make his report to the Baron, he paused when he noted an odd box. Nearing it, he saw a timer counting down. 5…4…3…2…1…0 

When the timer reached zero, the force of the lasgun-shield interaction, which mimicked forbidden atomics, wiped out Kryubi and the mountain with its illicit spice hoard.

Ignoring the blinding burst of light right behind him, Adan flew the carrier into the slave pits. Landing perfectly, he led his troops trough the enemy lines and butchered enemy troops left and right. Reaching the area set aside for the soldier's recreation, he burst into the slave quarters. Medics moved as quickly as they could to get the weakened slaves out. Blessings and tears were sent their way by those women who had not yet had their vocal cords removed by the sadistic Harkonnens. Looking around, Adan noted the shock on the Fremen faces when they saw the tears flowing from the slaves. Shaking his head, he bent down to a young woman, hardly more than a girl, and asked, "Can you move?"

She nodded her head and tried to stand. Her muscles gave out and she would have collapsed had Adan not caught her. "Easy now, girl. I'll help you out of here, and we can get you some help." Turning his attention away from the delicately beautiful girl, he bellowed, "Get a move on, you ground hogs! That Heighliner isn't going to wait for us! And kill all of the Harkonnen surgeons! We can't let them get away with these crimes…"

"Right, Bashar!" was the reply he heard from several of his troopers and, to his surprise, several Fremen as well. He watched just long enough to confirm that they were obeying, and then focused his attention on helping the girl. She could not walk, so he was forced to carry her. Moving quickly, he heard the sharp beep of his communicator. Turning it on, he heard the unmistakable sound of panic in Boont's voice. "Bashar! There's a monitor heading this way!!"

"Hells!" Monitors were the largest combat ships in space warfare. They were too big to blast off from a planetary surface, so they had been designed to split into ten separate sections. Bristling with weapons, nothing less than another monitor could take it on, one-on-one. However, their main flaw was that the sections had to be merged in space, and that gave a quick attacker a momentary advantage. "Have they finished merging?"

"No, sir, but they have begun it. We don't have anything to take it on with and-"

"We _do_ have a weapon. Prepare a combat pod and send it in by remote. Have it fire a lasgun on it's own shields when it gets close enough to the monitor. They'll be expecting that, and will try to shoot down the pod. While they're focusing on the pod, prepare to fire the multiphase projectiles. It'll be an unexpected move, which will allow us to feint again, using our lighters to blast it from the side. Get to it!"

"Yes, Bashar!"

_Feints within feints within feints, and all of them are lethal_.

Adan was on his bed, trying to sleep. The attack had been a success, with the leveling of the mountain and confirmation of the destruction of the mélange stockpiled by the Baron. They had successfully rescued close to one thousand slaves, and had suffered minimal causalities. In a show of bravura, the elite mansions of Barony had been reduced to mere memories, and another five hundred slaves had been rescued. He smiled humorlessly as he recalled the image sent by the monitor captain: that of Count Glossu Rabban, the Beast himself. The man had been furious and screamed all the curses he could at them for the destruction of half his monitor. Before his frigate had entered the Heighliner, Adan had given a cruel parting shot to the Baron's nephew. "Beast Rabban, know that House Atreides and their allies the Fremen have humiliated you today…yet again!"

That smashing success had been several days ago, and soon, they would return to Arrakis, though his Mentat mind knew what he would find once they got there.

_Datum: House Harkonnen has loathed House Atreides and vice versa since the Battle of Corrin. The Baron has been ruthless with his enemies, stopping at nothing to eliminate them._

_Datum: Duke Leto is a popular man among the Federated Houses of the Landsraad. The powerful envy the popular._

Datum: Duke Leto is of distaff lineage to House Corrino. Emperor Shaddam will not permit any threats to his throne, as he demonstrated on Zanovar near twenty years ago by wiping out all the cities in an attempt to kill his half-brother.

Datum: the Emperor has been stockpiling mélange. Purpose of this mission was to humiliate House Harkonnen before the Emperor.

Datum: the Emperor's involvement means Sardaukar. At least two brigades shall be used against House Atreides.

Counter-Datum: There were one thousand, six hundred and twenty nine ships entering the preceding Heighliner. That is not counting the legions that the Baron may have sent in from Lankiveil and other Harkonnen fiefs, along with the Imperial Sardaukar! Reassessment indicates that as many as fifty legions have been sent against Duke Leto!

Prime Projection: House Atreides will be attacked on Arrakis by overwhelming numbers of enemy soldiers. Duke Leto cannot withstand such military might. House Atreides will not win this direct battle, and will have to bide their time with the Fremen.

Finally shucking sleep off as impossible, he rose and left his quarters to prowl the ship. Stopping near the place reserved for the former slaves, he watched as his medics injected nutrients and other medicines into the maltreated and malnourished people. Pity stirred in his breast. These poor, broken people. Used as less than machines by the Harkonnens, battered, tortured, and stripped of all dignity. Even their hatred for the Baron is nothing compared to Duncan's or Gurney's. It will take some time to return them back to the way they were.

"Your face shows pity. Why do you pity them? They are free of the Harkonnens and can now avenge themselves."

Sighing in annoyance at the Naib's skill at approaching undetected, Adan turned around and faced this proud man who had never tasted defeat. "Look at them, Naib. Look at their eyes, and know that what the Harkonnens have done to you is nothing compared to what they have done to others. These people don't remember the last time they smiled, the last they laughed, or loved. All they have is an ember of hate that has almost been quenched."

Blue-within-blue eyes surveyed the hold, and finally returned to Adan. "Then we must reignite the fire."

Adan nodded agreement, and then turned to question that had nagged him since they had left Giedi Prime. "Why did your people recover the bodies of Harkonnen dead? Why not leave them to the vultures the way they deserve?" 

The Naib scowled, his countenance betraying disapproval. "We are not so rich that we can afford to waste water in such a way. We also recovered the bodies of your dead. We shall honor them the way our dead are honored. A water bond has been formed between us, Bashar. We shan't forget it."

Realization flooded Adan's mind. The Fremen intended to distill their bodies for the water present! While he did not mind such a fate for the Harkonnen dead, he was about to protest it for the Atreides when his mind recalled his prime projection: House Atreides will have to bide their time with the Fremen. 

Sighing, he said, "A water bond is formed between us. We are yours and you are ours, Naib Taman."

Things are worse than I feared.

They had arrived at Arrakis, and all the communication bands had indicated one thing: a crushing Atreides defeat with even fewer survivors than he had imagined. Moving quickly, he followed Taman's instructions and landed his frigate near an abandoned smuggler base in the southern polar areas. He and his lieutenants had argued for days on what they ought to do. Taman had reminded him that they could take refuge with them and become Fremen. But desire for revenge filled him. Finally, after days of debate, a large portion of his men voted to return to Caladan than remain on the desert planet. Reminding them that they had no money and no friends on Caladan, they grudgingly accepted a temporary stay on Arrakis.

How could they have killed the Duke? Who betrayed us to the Harkonnens?

The sunlight filtered into the base, which had once been a water mine. The place had the rough, prefab look common to industrial complexes, but the ex-owner's quarters combined functionality with frivolity. Ignoring the obvious luxuries, he focused on his emotions.

He clenched his kindjal, a gift from Duke Leto upon his birth. Fury whitened his knuckles as he gripped his weapon, a determined effort to contain his grief. My Duke, the young Master, his mother, and Duncan, all dead. Gurney in hiding, Thufir a Harkonnen prisoner. Thousands of Atreides troops slaughtered, or worse, Harkonnen slaves. And vengeance is only possible by allying with these Fremen. At least they kept their word and rescued the lives of the families of my troops. But how to avenge House Atreides? The family atomics are missing, which means the Harkonnens or the Fremen found them. I only have a brigade left, and the Harkonnens have at least four legions.

Once again, he examined his kindjal, a noble weapon that had spelled much blood for the Red Duke. It was a double-bladed knife, twenty centimeters of slightly curved blade. The blade and shearing guard were made of pure Damasteel. According to legend, every Damasteel blade was cooled in the back of a slave. Near indestructible, it was a weapon of the highest aristocracy. The hilt was decorated with a single black sapphire, a rare gem that sparkled in the light. 

"Noble Born, why do you stare at your knife?"

Looking up from his introspection, he nodded a greeting at his two visitors. One of them, Shania, was Taman's Fremen sister. She had a proud face, a fierce beauty that amused Adan even as she intrigued him. The other visitor was the young girl—Theresa—he had rescued from the slave pits, a gentle-featured charmer that not many normal men could resist, who even now was asking him the same question with her eyes.

Resisting the temptations of his body was nothing new to Adan, since stolen Bene Gesserit training was in his repertoire. He calmly began to speak. "Do you know the story of this weapon, my ladies?"

They shook their heads and resumed their silent, expectant pose. The two had been as inseparable as sisters since the rescue. Without taking his eyes from the weapon, he began to relate its tale. "This kindjal is made of Damasteel. Master blacksmiths, who take great pains to make Damasteel weapons the best in the Known Universe, forged it. They supposedly cool the newly forged blades in the bodies and blood of the strongest slave gladiators. Did you know that Duncan Idaho's sword was originally the Old Duke's own Damasteel blade? It's said that that weapon alone has tasted the blood of over one thousand men. This kindjal—" he lifted the weapon so that they could see it better "—was made at Duke Leto's command. He was aware of my impending birth, and had it made to commemorate the ten thousand years of faithful service of my House to the Atreides. The sapphire is of the rarest kind, meant to represent the truth that wards off evil. I've been using it since I was able to walk. And that was thirty years ago." His eyes adopted a murderous quality. "And this kindjal is the one that will avenge the Duke's death by finding a home in the bodies of every Harkonnen noble!"

"A truly fascinating story, Bashar." Not bothering to turn around, he knew who had spoken. He had been aware of Taman's eavesdropping since he begun the story.

"And it still has more of a story to write. What brings you here, Naib?"

The Naib moved with that same commander's strut Adan had noticed on the Giedi Prime raid. He obviously had something important to say, so Adan gestured for him to speak.

"I must inform you that we may no longer linger with you. It is a twenty-thumper journey to return to our sietch, and we've had news that the Sardaukar have started a pogrom against us. It is necessary for us to relocate."

Silently, Adan processed the information. He was weary, and it was obvious the Naib was serious. "Can I ask for your help? We intend to become a smuggler band. It will be the easiest way to stay near Arrakis…and near the Beast Rabban. I promise you refuge from the Harkonnen scum. And if it becomes necessary, escape from the pogrom."

Taman nodded. "I thank you for the offer. Our water bond will remain strong. I bid you farewell, friend Bashar. Shania, come!"

With the slightest of bows, the Fremen departed. And, too soon, Boont entered. "Bashar, I have bad news. Another seven of the rescued slaves died overnight. The medics are doing their best, but we doubt more than nine hundred will survive. Also, we have only one frigate. How are we going to—"

"Get the frigate ready. There should be enough spice for us to pay for a slot on a Heighliner. Our goal is Richese. We're going to steal a few of their ships."

Boont stared. Stealing warships, while not forbidden by the Great Convention, was strongly discouraged. There were several Great Houses that manufactured the battleships, chief among them were House Vernius of Ix and House Richese of Richese. Ix had trounced Richese in all-out economic warfare, and a second devastating blow had occurred when Shaddam's Sardaukar had destroyed their artificial laboratory satellite Korona. They barely survived as a cheap manufacturer of everything from ships to their fabulous Richesian mirrors. "Sir, I don't recommend—"

"Where was Count Richese, our own Duke's uncle, when the Harkonnens attacked?" Adan snapped. "Where was Earl Vernius, the son of one of the Duke's best friends, when we were forced to move to Arrakis? We are renegades, Boont. Our only loyalty is to avenge Duke Leto!"

"But the Duke is dead. We cannot care more for the dead than the living!"

With a movement too fast for the eyes to trace, Adan threw his knife at Boont, which passed within a millimeter of his head. Fear was dominant in every nuance of Boont's body. Mercilessly cold, Adan said, "You swore an oath. That oath is not done until you are dead, or until the Duke is avenged. If you do not wish to fulfill your oath, I will happily send you to the deepest most lava-blasted hell-grotto!"

Boont nodded, mute with terror. Adan began issuing orders. "Act like a soldier! Start finding as many of our comrades as survived. Prep the ship and get the appropriate bribes ready! The Harkonnens have not heard the last of the Atreides!"

Nor of the Cepedas. I might be Lord of a mere House Minor, but I trained under Duncan Idaho, Gurney Halleck, and Thufir Hawat! I shall avenge their loss, and the loss of Duke Leto and Prince Paul!

A twinge of sorrow came over him when he thought of the young ducal heir._ I wish the boy had survived. But they say he was caught in a coriolis storm. Nothing survives of the House Atreides' bloodline. Nothing but the ghola cells of Victor Atreides. And those are a carefully kept secret. We shall have to avenge them all!___


	3. Second Chapter

Mélange is the financial crux of CHOAM activities. Without this spice, Bene Gesserit Reverend Mothers could not perform feats of observation and human control, Guild Navigators could not see safe pathways across space, and billion of Imperial citizens would die of addictive withdrawal. Any simpleton knows that such dependence on a single commodity leads to abuse. We are all at risk.

**--CHOAM Economic Analysis of Material Flow Patterns.**

Three years. I have been condemned to this hellhole of a planet for three years. And I have yet to avenge my Duke!

The thought came as it always did: every evening as the sun set on the desert terrain, darkening the wastelands so that life could roam unobserved. Keenly aware of Theresa's eyes on his back, Adan ignored her and returned to his grim musings. And now, I learn that Gurney is missing. What could have happened? Even thirty Sardaukar could not prevent him from escaping to avenge the Duke! Did the Fremen's prophet, the one they call Muad'dib, catch him? And is Muad'dib Duncan? The tactics he uses…they certainly are his style…as well as Gurney's and Hawat's! Arrakis has become a world too tangled to excavate by Mentat processes.

"Bashar? I have interesting news. An unmarked 'thopter is approaching, following all standard procedures. Should we let it approach?"

Adan turned to face his trusted lieutenant, Kean Wayku. He had been a precious find, indeed: his father had often told him stories of the ex-Sardaukar who had fought alongside the Old Duke during the Ecazi Revolt. A disgraced Great House that had lost all their planets during the Third Coalsack War, the Wayku were now gypsies who operated the Guild's mass-transit craft. Ancient surrender terms forbade all members of their race from stepping foot on any planet in the Imperium, but the child Kean had snuck down to Salusa Secundus. Sardaukar, led by then-Bator Garon, had captured him. The feral Kean had impressed Garon, and been allowed to train alongside other Sardaukar children. Surviving in the vicious environment, Kean had left Imperial service and gone to the Atreides, where he had served alongside a young Duke Paulus and Adan's own grandfather Pablo Cepeda. After the Revolt, he had been sent as a spy to Harkonnen operations on Arrakis. He had disappeared; Adan had learned from Kean that he had married a Fremen and been raising a family in all the time he had been here. For the last two years, Kean had faithfully served Adan to avenge the lost of the Atreides Dukes.

"Does it look like Gurney's 'thopter, Kean?"

"It does, Bashar. Nothing seems amiss."

Nodding, Adan walked past his lieutenant and headed towards the landing pad. "Get about twenty troopers ready just in case. I don't like surprises."

"Right, Bashar."

Adan arrived just ahead of his soldiers and the ornithopter, which was obviously being piloted by Gurney. As soon as the motors idled, the hatch opened, and Gurney stepped out. Adan did not repress his grin; Gurney Halleck was an ugly lump of a man, with a head full of quotes and songs. It was rumored that he could kill a man as he sang, and not miss a note. As a child, he had asked him if that rumor was true. Scratching his inkvine scar, Gurney had finally replied, "I've not tried it out. When I have, I'll let you now, young Master." Ever since, Adan had greeted Gurney by asking him if he could sing and duel and not miss a note. 

"Gurney-man! It's good to see you. Tell me, can you sing a song while fighting, and not miss a note?"

"I've not had chance to test it, you young imp. But I do believe that I will soon have opportunity to finally answer that question."

Warily, Adan asked, "Oh? And how are you going to do that?"

With a gesture, Gurney indicated his passenger, a man dressed in the standard Fremen jubba cloak and stillsuit, filter and hood worn. Adan focused his eyes on the other man's: the blue-within-blue of the Fremen nomads. His own eyes carried a touch of the color, but he had been careful to avoid losing his own brown eyes to spice addiction.

"I'd not of thought that you had survived the debacle of two years ago, Bashar Cepeda." The voice sounded oddly familiar, even through the filter.

"You've got me at something of a disadvantage, friend. You know my name, but I do not know yours."

"How do you know I am your friend and not your foe?"

Calmly, repressing his curiosity, Adan gestured at Gurney. "Gurney would not bring someone he viewed as a threat to us here. And I've a water bond with the Fremen. You are a friend."

Calmly, the stranger tossed the hood back and removed the filter. And all time froze. Adan's troopers, all former Atreides, stared as if they had seen a ghost. Adan himself felt as if the dead Duke Leto had returned to life, but gradually, he felt his mind fasten on the sole person this could be. "Milord Paul! We…we thought…"

"I was dead. It was safer for you all to think so."

Adan detected the hard edge of adulthood in the boy he had last seen over two years ago. The lack of apology for making all of the Atreides troops believe him dead marked just how much the lad had changed. But almost none of this mattered at present except one thing. "Long live the Duke Paul Atreides! Long live the Red Duke!"

All of Adan's men took up the cry, and it began to echo throughout the base. Adan soon bowed before the Duke and said, "Milord Duke, please allow me to return to your service."

The young man allowed a hard smile to appear on his face, reminiscent of the Old Duke Paulus. He glanced briefly at the other troops, and said, "Rise, Lord Cepeda. Your loyalty to me will not be forgotten."

It had been a hectic evening. Almost every person on base, from Adan's two-year-old son to the septuagenarian Kean Wayku, had wanted to bow before the Duke, and only now was everything coming back to the status quo. Adan stood across from Gurney and Paul as he patiently awaited an explanation.

Finally, the black-haired Duke spoke. "How much military material and soldiers are present here, Bashar?"

"We have most of a frigate's full complement of lighter, 'thopters, and combat pods. We also have almost two thousand combatants. I assume that we are going to strike at the Harkonnens?"

The hard smile appeared once more. "Much bigger game than that, Bashar. What would you say if I told you that the Emperor himself is present with five legions of Sardaukar? And that the every House has brought the whole of their military might to bear on Arrakis?"

Surprise rippled through Adan. "The sheer cost…!"

"The Guild has reduced prices to the point where they are cheaply affordable."

"But why in the seven hells would they do that?"

"Because of me."

Adan stared at his Duke, aware that Gurney was not at a similar loss. Why would they reduce their profits to non-existent over a single Duke…?

"You are surprised."

"Your pardon, Milord, but 'shocked' is the word I would have used. 'Stupefied', 'dazed', and 'bewildered' are also apt to the situation. Why would they hunt you down like this?"

A chuckle escaped Gurney. "Better take a seat, lad. The Duke explained this to me while I was standing, and I hit my head on the way down. It took most of an hour to revive me."

Adan followed Gurney's advice and soon appreciated it. "You know me as Duke Paul Atreides, Bashar. But I am also some other men. I am Muad'dib, the Fremen war leader. I am the Lisan al-Gaib, their promised Messiah. The Bene Gesserit knows me as the Kwisatz Haderach. And it is the Kwisatz Haderach that the Guild hunts for."

"Kwisatz Haderach?" Confusion was apparent in every nuance of Adan's body.

"Kwisatz Haderach, the Shortening of the Way. I am the Bene Gesserit solution to the state of the universe today. A man with their powers, and able to be many places at once. I am prescient beyond the power of even the greatest Guild Steersman. I am the master of Fate. I am the tool of Fate."

Adan wore his surprise like a badge. Finally, he recovered enough to ask, "But how? How did they manage to make you?"

"For over ten thousand years, they have been breeding humanity to produce the exact combination of genes that would result in me. I have present in me the blood of every Great and Minor House of the Imperium."

"Why would they do this? Why create you?"

"I would be the ultimate weapon. Who can fight a man who knows all the future and all the past?"

"I…see." Veering his mind away from the reasons for the battle to come, Adan focused on how to fight it. "Milord, forgive me if I seem presumptuous, but there are details for this battle to settle."

Gurney laughed, though Adan's trained ears detected strain. "Not to worry lad. We've a wonder of a battle in mind." 

Excitement gripped Adan and all the rest of his men. They were in position to execute the beautifully elegant plan Duke Paul had developed. He and Kean were waiting patiently outside of a cave, keeping watch on the Harkonnen and Imperial activity. "Look at that monstrosity the Emperor brought! It's a fanmetal palace at least 20 stories high! Probably packed with all the typical court parasites." Adan shifted his oil lenses. "The scum are securing their 'thopters now. Doubt that those crazy Fremen will attack with a sandstorm like this one coming."

"I would too. Right now, the only thing on my mind is finding a nice safe hole where I can let this pass me by. But no-o-o-o, I'm going to be right behind that damned storm and fighting it out with Imperial Sardaukar and Harkonnen mercenaries. And here I wanted to spend my old age in decent comfort."

The third member of their group, one of the Fedaykin—death commandoes—replied, "But Bator Wayku, you do not look older than thirty."

"My friend, the spice can only slow aging by half…an effect which my lovely wife often negates." 

Adan ignored the banter, focusing on a flicker of movement from the Old Gap. "There's the ground car. I wonder how the Duke's pet Sardaukar are feeling?"

The ground car headed toward the massive hutment. Soon thereafter, a shimmer appeared all around the area. "The shield is up, and it's all the way to the spice storage yards." Kean observed. "I think they know who is coming for them."

A wolfish grin came across the younger man's face. "Good for them." he shifted his lenses to the hutment. "Now, here's the moment of truth. If they raise the Duke's black-and-green banner, all we have to do is kill the Harkonnens. But if not, then…" He returned his gaze to the mobile palace the Emperor had brought, and noticed the flag they raised: yellow, with a black and red circle centered. "My, the Emperor doesn't seem to acknowledge defeat. I guess the Duke's Fedaykin will have to show him."

"What do you mean?"

Handing Kean the lens, Adan began to explain. "He raised the CHOAM flag. He's telling the other armies in orbit that he doesn't care if an Atreides is here or not. He's telling them where the profit is. Now we have to tell him that it's here, and it's not for him."

Turning toward his Fedaykin lieutenant, he grinned. "Well, Taman. It looks like we fight alongside each other once again."

The death commando smiled. "Yes, Bashar. But I warn you that this time, you won't get as many Harkonnens as you did on Giedi Prime."

"I'll take that as a challenge! Any word on how soon the storm will hit?"

"Soon. A great-great-grandmother of a storm, obeying the call of Muad'Dib."

Adan nodded, not wanting to offend the fanatical death commando sworn to Muad'Dib. The Fremen all believed that Duke Paul was their Mahdi, their Messiah meant to make the desert wastes into an abundant paradise. While he disapproved of the religious prattle they associated with the Duke, Adan was only a warrior for House Atreides. As such, it did not concern him. Adan shuddered when he thought of the potential jihad that the Duke's mad Fremen hordes might unleash on an unsuspecting Imperium.

"Bashar? We've just received the signal to take cover from Warmaster Halleck. He's getting ready to activate the atomics!"

"Inside you two! We don't want to be blinded before we kill the Harkonnens!"

No sooner had the trio rejoined the other Atreides and Fedaykin troops than the Old Gap was blasted apart by an Atreides stoneburner. The full might of the storm crashed in on the suddenly vulnerable Harkonnen positions. Ornithopters came in the storms' aftermath and destroyed enemy air cover. And then the worms came, mounted by Fremen screaming "Long live the fighters of Muad'Dib!" 

Count Glossu Rabban had not seen his little brother in almost a year. He was impressed with how the youth had matured into a formidable young man. Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was over forty years younger than Rabban, and obviously the smarter of the two. Rabban himself understood that he was little more than an enforcer, while Feyd truly had the intelligence, cunning, and viciousness needed to succeed their old Uncle Vladimir. The patrol their uncle had ordered them on gave them time for Rabban to query his brother.

Rabban had questioned his brother on rumors that the Baron had added him to his list of special 'candidates', a family euphemism for the young boys the Baron enjoyed his perversions on. Feyd had sullenly refused to answer, which confirmed the rumors in Rabban's mind. He also questioned the lad on his combat proficiency, skills he proven time and again against over one thousand slave gladiators. Now, however, they were focusing on patrolling the perimeter in case the mad Fremen attacked at such a time. 

"I keep telling you, brother. The Fremen are not mad enough to attack. Not with this Great Mother of a storm coming."

Bullish Rabban glared at the wiry youth. "Feyd, when you've spent most of your life battling the Fremen scum and wringing the sands for spice, then will your opinion here on Arrakis be useful. Until then, shut up and keep your eyes open!"

A small moue of scorn contorted Feyd's face, but before he could belittle his brother, the sky lit up with an unnatural light. Turning to where the light came from, Rabban's entire brigade froze.

Where the Old Gap had been, there was now a massive breach in the Shield Wall. And the storm they had been so sure would not harm them was now approaching at high speed.

"All of you! Find cover!" Rabban ordered. Dragging his brother into a nearby crevice, he was soon stopped by a sight he had never thought to see. In the blur left behind by the storm, Fremen seemed to be falling from the sky, but as he focused, he saw what was truly happening: the Fremen were sliding off the sandworms!

Adan grouped his troops around him and charged the Harkonnen perimeter. The Duke had assigned him to destroy whatever enemy soldiers the 'thopters missed. Fedaykin and Atreides men butchered shocked Harkonnen mercenaries. Turning away from a dead Harkonnen, Adan activated the explosives they had secreted into the shields. A great roar sounded, and the shield glimmer faded away. Atreides snipers in position then followed their orders to add insult to injury. With a preciseness Adan admired, purple lasbeams shot off the nose of the Emperor's ship, grounding it. He then resumed killing the blue-liveried Harkonnens…

Beast Rabban fought ferociously. The mad Fremen scum had caught him by surprise, but his own combative streak refused to let him go down without a fight. Turning away from a writhing Fremen he had stabbed with a slip-tip, he looked around for new prey. When he caught sight of the man he presumed to be their commander, he charged.

Adan's kindjal slipped past an enemy's shield at the precise speed—not too fast, nor too slow—and cut up the aorta. An inarticulate bellow attracted his attention, and he quickly pulled out his knife from the dying man to meet the new threat. Ahh, Beast Rabban himself!

Adan's eyes evaluated the big man as he charged. Low-built, gross of face and body, with some rigidity to the fat to indicate superb physical conditioning, the Beast would not be an easy victory. Sword out, kindjal held in a reverse grip so that the blade lay on his forearm, Adan waited for Rabban to come to him.

Rabban roared. "I know you! You're the Atreides scum who damaged my monitor!"

Adan bowed mockingly. "Don't forget the part about my blowing up Mt. Ebony and the Baron's spice stockpile. Much as I'd rather let Gurney Halleck kill you, I do believe the task falls to me."

"Gurney Halleck! That slave-rubbish isn't dead yet?"

"He's waited many a year for his revenge, Rabban. I shall complete it for him, since you're too dangerous to leave alive."

Rabban smiled as he thought back to the incident that earned him Gurney's eternal hatred. Gurney had been a slave at the quartz quarries, captured when he tried to rescue his sister from a Harkonnen pleasure house. Gurney had attacked Rabban when the Beast had visited his quarry. Expecting a weakling, Gurney was surprised by Rabban's speed, which allowed him to dodge. Rabban had used his inkvine to disfigure Gurney's face with a long rippling scar. In retaliation for the attack, Rabban had then murdered everyone in Gurney's home village of Dmitri, including Gurney's parents. As for the sister, Rabban had had her raped before Gurney's eyes. After several of his men had had their turns, Rabban himself assaulted the girl, then broken her neck. The memory of that double pleasure had never faded.

"Hai, Harkonnen! Are you prepared to die?" Adan said, the traditional challenge of single combat.

"Hai! Is the Atreides ready?" Rabban replied with the traditional response.

And with that, Rabban lunged with his sword, which Adan caught on the shearing-guard of his kindjal. Twisting it away from his body, Adan lashed out with his sword, and successfully forced the Beast to drop his slip-tip. Resuming his offensive, Adan noted the look of glee Rabban had on. Since the Beast was staring at a point behind him, Adan leapt out of the way, and was unsurprised when a youth with unruly black hair went past him, knife in hand, and collided with Rabban.

Feyd was shocked. Not only had the Atreides evaded his attack, but also his own brother had been stabbed instead. Getting up, he fled toward the hutment and the Sardaukar fighting with the Fremen, ignoring his brother's cry for help.

The weakened Rabban stared upward at the Atreides. He feebly tried to lunge at him, but Adan sidestepped too quickly. Kicking away Rabban's sword, Adan whispered, "My name is Lord Adan Cepeda. Remember my name on your journey to whatever hells there may be!"

Thrusting with his kindjal, Adan gouged out the Beast's eyes and hit the brain. With a single vicious slash from his sword, he finished the grisly task by beheading Rabban, and then turned his attention to the hutment. He noted the frenzied Sardaukar defense, and shouted in Atreides battle language for his troops to focus their attack there.

Captain Aramsham was not having a good day. After being freed by the Fremen leader Muad'Dib, who was really the Duke Atreides, he had fled back to the Emperor. Barely an hour after he had given his report, the Old Gap had been blasted apart, and for the first time in their history, the Imperial Sardaukar had stood awed by an onslaught they had never encountered. Sandstorms raging, while sandworms ridden by men approached them! Now, he was fighting for his life, dueling with madmen. Even as he killed a Fremen, he felt a knife slip in through his shield, and the world dissolved into nothingness… 

Adan threw the knife he had used on the Sardaukar. Instinct had told him not to kill the man, so he had instead used a captured Harkonnen knife that contained a sleeper toxin. He watched as the thrown knife lodged in an enemy throat, then resumed killing. It was almost nightfall, and the enemy lines were almost broken. With a horrible shout, Adan led the final charge that crushed the mighty Sardaukar.

Morning found Paul restored to the old Residency that had been his father's ducal palace. The Emperor's legions had been crushed; the old Baron and his nephew Rabban were dead. Taman had not known of the Baron's death until the Lisan al-Gaib had said it aloud to the gathered guards and leaders…before those gathered had whispered a word of it to him. Even now, he had sent a captured Sardaukar to the Emperor, using the bond of the Great Convention to guarantee his safety. Taman stood at attention, lance in hand, as the Imperial party arrived. He watched each man, his gaze falling briefly on one who looked like the Mahdi's father, excepting the color of his hair and eyes. That one must be the Emperor. It is said that the Duke Leto and the Emperor Shaddam were kinsmen.

Resuming his examination, he noted a stunning blonde woman, green-eyed, haughty and undefeated. She seemed similar to the Reverend Mother Jessica, the Mahdi's mother. There was an undeniable resemblance to the Emperor, making it obvious to Taman that she was his daughter.

So, the daughter of the snake… Adan thought as soon as he laid eyes on Princess Irulan Corrino. Chastising himself, he added the thought, Grief for a woman has no place here! Your son still lives, even if the mother died because of those damned Sardaukar!

This thought brought up another part of the Duke's plan: seize the Emperorship by marrying Shaddam's daughter and heir. Not for love, because Adan could bet a frigate full of spice that Paul had never met her face to face. But for power, as was often the way of the Great Houses of the Landsraad. Suddenly, the Duke said, "There's Thufir Hawat. Let him stand free, Gurney."

"M'Lord," Gurney said.

"Let him stand free."

Adan focused attention solely on the shambling old man who neared Paul. He was almost moved to tears at the sight. Rheumy eyes peered at the Duke, measuring the young man who had replaced the boy he had trained. The tension was palpable as Paul approached the ancient Mentat Master of Assassins.

Hawat's gaze moved beyond Paul, settling on his mother. "Lady Jessica, I but learned this day how I've wronged you in my thoughts. You needn't forgive."

Paul paused, and then spoke. "Thufir, old friend. As you can see, my back is toward no door."

"The universe is full of doors," the old Mentat rasped feebly.

"Am I my father's son?"

"More like your grandfather's. You've his manner and the look of him in your eyes."

"Yet I am my father's son. For I say to you, Thufir, that in payment for your years of service to my family you may now ask anything of me. Anything at all. Do you need my life, Thufir? It is yours."

Adan stared, uncomprehending. What in the seven hells was going on? His question was answered when he read the Duke's lips, whispering something to his old teacher. Paul had said, "I mean this, Thufir. If you're to strike me, do it now."

"I but wanted to stand before you once more, my Duke." And Adan became aware of a sudden trembling in Hawat's body. Paul placed his hands on Hawat's shoulders.

"Is there pain, old friend?"

"There is pain, my Duke. But the pleasure is greater." Turning, Hawat extended his left hand, exposing the needle pressed into his palm. "See, Majesty? See your traitor's needle? Did you think that I who've given my life to service of the Atreides would give them less now?"

Adan watched the old man sag into the Duke's arms, full realization in his mind. Hawat had given his life for the Duke! Given a choice between dishonorable life and honorable death, the man had made his without hesitation, using the offered life to be near one who had been like a son to him. Adan tuned out of the world as he remembered the old Mentat. Too soon, the Duke brought him back to reality.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot about them." Adan focused as Paul settled his gaze on two Guildsmen. Both were fat men dresses in gray, and when Paul saw them, he whispered something to Gurney, and then he spoke aloud. 

"You two," he said, pointing. "Get out of there immediately and dispatch messages that will get that fleet on its way home. After this, you'll ask my permission before—"

"The Guild doesn't take your orders!" That was the taller of the two, and Adan watched as they pushed their way to the barrier lances, which were raised at Paul's gesture. The taller Guildsman leveled an arm at the Duke while saying, "You may very well be under embargo for your—"

"If I hear any more nonsense from either of you, I'll give the order that'll destroy all spice production on Arrakis…forever."

"Are you mad?" The Guildsmen recoiled. Adan smiled. He had known of this part of the plan, knowing that it was the best weapon they had against the whole of the Imperium, despite of the slaughter that would ensue if they did carry out the threat.

"You grant that I have the power to do this thing then?"

Adan focused on the look of the lost that the Guildsman wore after Paul had spoken to him. Mentat processes revealed the man's true identity to Adan. He's a Guild Navigator!

Navigators were creatures of the Guild. They were the only ones able to see a clear path across space, operating the Holtzmann generators that folded space, allowing them to cross parsecs within an instant. No one ever saw a Navigator, and Adan was shocked at the presence of one on Arrakis right now.

"Yes, you could, but you must not," the tall fat man finally said.

Duke Paul had arrived at the same conclusion that Adan had, and shared it, though there was no need of it. He's playing to the Devil's Gallery. He learned from Duncan well. Truly, he is a formidable Duke.

The shorter Guildsman suddenly said, "You would blind yourself, too, and condemn us all to slow death. Have you any idea what it means to be deprived of the spice liquor once you're addicted?"

"The eye that looks ahead to the safe course is closed forever." The Duke was mocking them viciously; he reminded them of the opportunities the Guild had missed. "The Guild is crippled. Humans become little isolated clusters on their isolated planets. You know, I might do this thing out of pure spite…or ennui."

"Let us talk this over privately. I'm sure we can come to some compromise that is—"

"Do it!" Duke Paul barked, his anger made more dramatic by his black-black hair accentuating the blue-within-blue eyes. "The power to destroy a thing is the absolute control over it. You've agreed I have that power. We are not here to discuss or to negotiate or to compromise. You will obey my orders or suffer the immediate consequences!"

"He means it," the shorter Guildsman said. Adan was sure that everyone in the hall could see their utter terror—and resignation—as they headed toward the Fremen communication equipment.

He divided his attention between the scene the Duke was playing and a sudden inspiration. Chalice Corrino, Irulan's sister, was his age. Marriage to one of the Emperor's daughters would raise his House's standing. The Duke had said that his loyalty would not be forgotten, and this was the perfect road to more strength for House Cepeda to serve House Atreides well. His fondness of Theresa was unimportant in the alliances that ran the Imperium. Once again, his attention was returned to current affairs by a single shout.

"Kanly!" Adan marked who said that ancient word, full of tradition. It meant vendetta, and only one House had a vendetta against the Atreides. He looked for the one speaking. It was the same black-haired youth who had fled from Rabban's scene of death. This was the new Baron Harkonnen?

"Your father named this vendetta, Atreides," Feyd continued. "You call me coward while you hide among your women and offer to send a lackey against me!"

Shaddam spoke, sensing opportunity. "Kanly, is it? There are strict rules for kanly." If the Harkonnen can rid me of this irritating Duke, he shall be rewarded before I destroy his House for failing me. Better yet if they die on each other's knives!

Adan watched as Gurney, the Lady Jessica, even the Duke's elfin consort Chani, attempted to dissuade the Duke from dueling the Harkonnen scum. Gurney was purpling from rage, the inkvine scar made by Rabban rippling on his face. At last, they stood aside, allowing Paul to approach. Adan focused on the brooding Emperor, who suddenly smiled. "If Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen…of my entourage…so wishes, I relieve him of all restraint and give him freedom to chose his own course in this." Shaddam waved a hand toward the Fedaykin guards. "One of your rabble has my belt and short blade. If Feyd-Rautha wishes it, he may meet you with my blade in hand."

"I wish it," the boy—Feyd—said. Adan frowned, disapproving. He's overconfident. That's an advantage the Duke can use.

"Get the Emperor's blade." Adan hurried to obey. When he returned, Paul said, "Put it on the floor there," he said, indicating with his foot. "Clear the Imperial rabble back against the wall and let the Harkonnen stand clear."

Adan obeyed, and stood at the traditional place for a vassal whose lord was in kanly: to the right of the master's hand. His eyes followed Paul's, focusing his attention on Feyd. The youth was slipping out of his torn uniform, stripping down to a fighting girdle with a mail core. Adan's trained eyes spotted the obvious signs of a trained fighter conditioned to using a shield. Before he could pick up on Feyd's style, Feyd spoke the traditional words of kanly; "Is the Atreides ready?"

Adan waited for the reply—which was always "My blade shall speak for me"—but Paul surprised him. "May thy knife chip and shatter." Then Paul gestured for Feyd to pick up the knife on the floor, which Feyd did.

"Meet your death, fool," Baron Harkonnen sneered.

"Shall we fight, cousin?" Duke Atreides replied.

Cousin? Adan was confused. While it was not unusual for Great Houses to be related by distaff lineage, House Atreides and House Harkonnen bloodlines had never mixed. The only other instance for the use of that term was courtesy to a fellow noble, another act that the Duke Atreides and Baron Harkonnen had never used with each other. Why does my Duke indulge in that useless courtesy? To remind the others that he is a noble? Why bother? The ducal signet ring announced that a while ago. So why—

He stopped watching the combatants, who were circling each other, gauging weaknesses and strengths. He looked for, and found, the Emperor's Bene Gesserit Truthsayer. She was trembling, which meant that—

It all came together sharply in Adan's head, a prime projection. They are cousins! Damn the Bene Gesserit! They must have gotten their hands on Harkonnen sperm and used it to birth the Lady Jessica! Since the old Baron was literally a faggot, that means that Beast Rabban's father was their donor! Duke Paul and Baron Harkonnen are kinsmen!

Before Adan could resolve this dilemma of loyalty, Feyd leapt, feinting with his right hand as he stabbed with his left. Paul dodged easily, resumed his study of Feyd. Annoyed, Feyd said, "Does an Atreides run or stand and fight?"

The Duke ignored the jibe, resumed his silent circling.  "Perhaps you think this dance prolongs your life a few moments. Well and good." Feyd straightened and stopped circling. 

Adan focused on the Duke. He too had stopped pacing, and now stood still. Noting the slight hesitation, Adan wondered if he was feeling guilt at being forced to kill a kinsman. Please, my Duke. You may have some of his blood, but he little more than a beast. Spill his blood and end their evil!

Feyd had not missed the hesitation either. "Why prolong the inevitable? You but keep me from exercising my rights over this ball of dirt."

Once again, the Duke did not reply, seeming to be studying a point in Feyd's armor. Adan focused on the same thing his Duke was staring at. It seemed just another point of the fighting armor. Or maybe…it's more than it seems…a flipdart? The girdle shows no sign of tampering. A poisoned needle? If it is, it's very cunningly hidden. I see no sign of it.

"Why don't you speak?" Feyd demanded. Adan smiled at the unease in his tone. So, a talker, eh? Has no fondness for silence, does he? Another advantage for the Duke to exploit.

Duke also seemed amused by this weakness, Adan saw. He too wore a smile. "You smile, eh?" Feyd asked, then leaped in mid-sentence. The Duke almost failed to dodge the downward strike, and Adan saw the tip of the Emperor's blade scratch Paul's arm.

"Your own Thufir Hawat taught me some of my skills. He gave me first blood. Too bad the old fool didn't live to see it."

Big mistake, that. Thufir only taught the Atreides how to counter those combat skills of his. The whelp has no idea that his skills are flawed.

They resumed circling each other, crouched, cautious. Adan noted Feyd's elation. A minor scratch had no reason to please someone like that. If there had been poison, Adan would have understood, but he had personally put the blade through the poison snooper, which detected nothing.

"That women you were talking to. The little one. Is she something special to you? A pet perhaps? Will she deserve my special attentions?"

The Duke remained silent, though Adan knew he had a punishment in mind for the arrogant noble. Feyd leapt again, stabbing at the Duke. Adan watched the slowness of the dodge and felt a spike of fear for the Duke. At the last possible instant, he caught the attack on his crysknife's point. Feyd dodged sideways, and moved out of the way. A slight clench of his jaw indicated the Duke had slashed him.

"Treachery! He's poisoned me! I do feel poison in my arm!" Feyd shouted. 

The Duke spoke up. "Only a little acid to counter the soporific on the Emperor's blade."

Adan nodded. So, that's why he was so happy. A soporific to slow down the Duke's muscle responses. And since it's not a poison, the snooper missed it. A feint within a feint within a feint, all of them lethal. The whelp learned from Thufir well.

Feyd resumed the offensive, coming in close, and soon, the two nobles were grappling with each other, trying to bring their knives to bear. The Duke forced a turn to the right, but an odd motion from Feyd's left side forced him to sag, throwing off his footing enough for Feyd to throw him to the floor. Adan tensed, prepared to call Feyd out if he succeeded in killing the Duke. Kanly forbade outside intervention, and Adan was bound by it. Wait, why is he turning his left side to the Duke? The poisoned needle! It was on his left! Damn!

The slightest hesitation came over Feyd, and Adan was relieved to see Paul take advantage of it to reverse their positions. Paul freed his left hand, and forced his crysknife through Feyd's jaw, driving the point straight through the brain.

The last act of this drama begins. Now, pour salt into his open wounds, my Duke!

"Majesty, your force is reduced by one more. Shall we now shed pretense and sham? Shall we now discuss what must be? Your daughter wed to me and the way opened for an Atreides to sit on the throne."

Shaddam turned, looked at Count Hasimir Fenring. Fenring, the fox that hides behind the Emperor's cloak. Distaff Corrino cousin and Shaddam IV's crib companion. A genetic eunuch and one of the best fighters in the Imperium. Even more ferocious than Imperial Sardaukar!

"Do it!" Shaddam hissed.

Fenring turned his gaze on the Duke, studying the Duke. Adan recognized the look as Bene Gesserit training, surprised until he remembered that Fenring was the son of a Bene Gesserit, and had married another. So, he picked up some tricks, eh?

At last, Fenring said, "Majesty, I must refuse."

Rage stormed through Shaddam. With two steps, he cut through his entourage and to Fenring. Viciously, he cuffed the man he had grown up with.

"We have been friends, Majesty. What I do now is out of friendship. I shall forget that you have struck me." There was a deliberate lack of emphasis in Fenring's words, and Adan admired the vocal control he exhibited. Another male trained in the Bene Gesserit way. That makes three of us: Duke Paul, Count Fenring and myself.

The Duke cleared his throat, said: "We were speaking of the throne, Majesty."

Turning, the Emperor glared. "I sit on the throne!"

"You shall have a throne on Salusa Secundus."

Why does he mention the hellhole Shaddam uses as prison planet? Adan wondered. Revelation came quickly. 

"I put down my arms and came here on your word of bond!" The Emperor was in a rage, and had dropped all pretense of Imperial hauteur. "You dare threaten—" 

"Your person is safe in my presence. An Atreides promised it. Muad'dib, however, sentences you to your prison planet. But have no fear, Majesty. I will ease the harshness of the place with all the powers at my disposal. It shall become a garden world, full of gentle things."

"Now we see true motives," Shaddam sneered.

"Indeed."

"And what of Arrakis? Another garden world full of gentle things?"

"The Fremen have the word of Muad'dib. There will be flowing water here open to the sky, and green oases rich with good things. But we have the spice to think of, too. Thus, there must always be desert on Arrakis…and fierce winds, and trials to toughen a man. We Fremen have a saying: 'God created Arrakis to train the faithful'. One cannot go against the word of God."

By the Great Mother! Adan felt the shock of the words through his Bene Gesserit training, and his Mentat mind realized what Muad'dib intended. He would unleash these Fremen on the Imperium, in a vicious Jihad that would cover the Atreides banner in blood. While he did not doubt he would have a role in the fighting, Adan swore to himself he would permit no religious atrocities.

"You cannot loose these people on the universe!" the old Truthsayer exclaimed, evidently understanding the subtleties of Muad'dib's statement as well as Adan had.

"You will think back on the gentle ways of the Sardaukar!" the Duke snapped.

"You cannot," she whispered.

Sneering, Paul-Muad'dib said, "You're a Truthsayer. Review your words." Turning to the Emperor, the Duke said, "Best be done quickly, Majesty."

Irulan, using the soothing intonations of Voice, said, "For this I was trained, Father."

While it might have been possible for Shaddam to shrug off one Voice, two was a different matter. The old witch, harsh in her control, stated, "You cannot stay this thing."

Adan and Paul watched as Shaddam's whole body accepted the crushing defeat. Trying to recover the revenants of the pride of the Corrino lion, Shaddam's voice, thick with remembered dignity, said: "Who will negotiate for you, kinsman?" 

We have won. This drama is over. But there is another one yet to begin. And I know I must be at the forefront of it.


	4. Third Chapter

Without a goal, a life is nothing. Sometimes the goal becomes a man's entire life, an all-consuming passion but once that goal is achieved, what then? Oh, poor man, what then?

 --**Lady Helena Atreides, her personal journals **

The Golden Lion Throne glittered with the power of its internal lights. A massive slab of priceless Hagal crystal, it was the largest such stone ever found, and had been carved into the only throne worthy of the Emperor. The green gem, hypnotic in its constant shifting of color, had the undivided attention of everyone in the massive throne room of the new palace, in the magnificent reception chamber. Everyone with a single conspicuous exception.

Lord Adan Cepeda, Bashar of House Atreides, was dressed in his finest clothing. The elegant red and black, with the glinting of green jewels, adroitly combined his house colors with those of his overlords, the Atreides. No stranger to the elegance of courtly functions, Adan still disliked the frivolity, and made his displeasure obvious by maintaining his kindjal with him. The hand he rested on the blade sent its message clearly: leave me in peace. As a result, the other aristocrats of the Landsraad avoided being in his presence.

Scowling, Adan turned away from the irritating courtiers, and headed toward the outdoor balcony. His years of miserable exile on the desert planet Arrakis had left him with a fierce dislike of the rabble and scum of humanity, and these aristocrats fell rather firmly into the latter group. Three years previous, the assembled military of the Great Houses had fallen on Arrakis, the sole source of the precious spice. Their goal, inspired by the paranoia of the Guild, was to gain control of the Golden Fleece of their civilization, the planet Arrakis and its prized spice mélange. 

Under the direction of the old Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and the soon-to-be-deposed Padishah Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV, the combined might of the Imperium had come to crush the mad Fremen tribes, who had created a bottleneck in spice production. The Fremen leader, a man called Muad'dib, however, threw their plans to the coriolis storms of the planet. Muad'dib, born Paul Orestes Atreides, son of the murdered Siridar-Duke Leto, led his Fedaykin, the greatest of the Fremen, into pitched battle on the plains of Arrakeen against Shaddam's soldier-fanatics, the Sardaukar. Adan himself had commanded a brigade of the Fedaykin at that final battle, and his distaste of the pampered nobles of the Landsraad had known no bounds after that victory.

Silently, he looked across the desert, knowing full well that the titles of the Duke Atreides and the Red Duke would soon lose their meaning, for Paul-Muad'dib would shortly wed Irulan Corrino, and take Shaddam's Imperial crown for his own. For the last three years, Paul had "negotiated" with the Emperor for the power of the Regency created in Irulan's name. Shaddam and his Sardaukar had proven recalcitrant, and Adan and his brigade had been called upon often to force a point on one Imperial planet after another, from Kaitain to Salusa Secundus. After his brigades and Fedaykin had proven again and again to be unstoppable, Shaddam had finally ceded all his rights to Paul. Even now, the impotent head of House Corrino sat in his ancient familial bastion of Salusa Secundus, left with only a single legion of his once-invincible Sardaukar and whatever levies he could summon from the loyalists who had either fled to or been banished with him.

"So, you're the minor Lord that my father wants me to marry."

Adan drew his kindjal and whirled, turning to face whoever had appeared behind him with the trademark speed of the Bene Gesserit-trained. He stopped short of attacking when he realized that the one who had spoken was only an unarmed woman, wearing a dress of living imian flowers. Ignoring her challenging tone, Adan studied her. Her elegant face, combined with proud ambition, marked her as the blood-daughter of only one man.

"So, you're the Princess Chalice Corrino," Adan said, returning her challenge with one of his own.

Moving with elegant grace, Princess Chalice walked toward him and stopped less than a foot away. Green eyes the color of forest glades back on Caladan regarded him from a classically beautiful face, patrician and desirable. Her hair, blonde and curled, glistened in the harsh Arrakeen sun, framing her face with a look of timeless innocence. The princess maintained an aura about her of being too far away to be touched, which Adan knew full well came as a side-effect of Bene Gesserit training.

"I see you're going to keep yourself to yourself, Lord. Tell me, how do you see me? Through the eyes of the Bashar who crushed old Garon on Kaitain? The eyes of the Mentat, forever trying to find a solution to life?" She paused, and then surprised him with her next words. "Or do you see me through the eyes of the Bene Gesserit, judging people to be human or not?"

Adan concealed his surprise deep inside his mind, using a combination of Mentat and Bene Gesserit tricks. Gesturing casually, he pointed toward the desert. "Tell me, Princess, what do you see out there?"

"I see Arrakis. Dune, the Desert Planet. I see the plains of Arrakeen, where my father's Sardaukar legions were bested by your Duke's mad Fremen hordes. I see a world that would be worthless were it not for one thing." She looked him in the eyes. "The spice gives your Duke his power, and has bought him a throne. What else will it do?"

"So, you're not a true Bene Gesserit."

"My mother died before she could train me as completely as she trained Irulan, and the Sisterhood deemed the rest of us as worthless. So, yes, Mentat, I'm not a true Bene Gesserit, but neither am I of the rabble. I'm caught walking a tightrope, balancing between chaos and order, and incapable of choosing between the two at will."

Chalice had said nothing untruthful in whole of this interview, but she had not told the whole truth, either. Knowing full well that this minor Lord was the product of a non-Bene Gesserit breeding program, she planned to introduce her own formidable genetics into his bloodline to eventually breed a rival to the current Kwisatz Haderach. The man who could be many places at once, seeing the whole of the future and past, had been the Bene Gesserit goal, and just short of achieving their goal, the Kwisatz Haderach, Paul-Muad'dib Atreides, had rebelled, taking the power of destiny into his hand. 

According to Irulan, the Duke Atreides should have been born female, so that she could be bred with a Harkonnen heir, and the offspring of that union would then have been bred with a Corrino, resulting in the Kwisatz Haderach and his superior heir. But Paul's mother had instead borne a son out of love for the Red Duke, Leto Atreides. As a result of the machinations of the ancient Atreides enemy of House Harkonnen, Duke Leto died on Arrakis, Paul and his mother had fled to the Fremen, and the Arrakis Affair began. 

Disconcertingly, Lord Cepeda smiled. Chalice, driven by curiosity, demanded, "What amuses you, Mentat?"

"The universe amuses me. It shifts, yet I do not see the shifts. I am constant in a universe of change."

"Are you a Zensunni as well as a Mentat and Bene Gesserit?"

"Zensunni? Pah! Philosophy is the toy of prophets and would-be messiahs."

"The tool of manipulation and oppression, Mentat."

"Did I not just say that?"

"Are you a product of the Bene Tleilax?"

"Tleilaxu? I am unique, born of a woman, not bred in a tank!"

Surprised, Adan had reacted in the only way he could at the mention of the foul Bene Tleilax, the unclean traders of genetics. They were rumored to be able to create anything, a pure saint or ultimate devil, given the proper human material.

"So, you're not a pure saint or a pure devil. Then what are you?"

"I am what I am."

Adan shook his head. Talking with the princess was a startling experience. Here, he met the perfect foil for a Mentat. She spoke in the Bene Gesserit way, and kept him operating at the peak of his abilities.

"Are what you are? The traditional mantra of the cynic. Are you a cynic, then?"

"I am not a cynic. I simply reserve judgment."

"Then you are a cynic, since cynics claim not to judge, but their every action is a verdict."

 "The true cynic is the ultimate hypocrite! He believes in everything, yet trusts nothing!"

"Your Duke's coronation will begin shortly. Will you be there, or will you insult him on his greatest day?"

"I am Atreides! I will not abandon my Duke! No trial of heaven or hell shall prevent me from my duty!"

Abruptly, Chalice whirled, beginning to reenter the palace. Momentarily surprised, Adan followed, more intrigued than irritated. Running his responses through both Mentat and Bene Gesserit logic, he reviewed how much of his inner self he revealed, how many mirrors he had allowed to reflect. And he shuddered, concealing it from all, as he remembered the most foolhardy action of his life.

The infamous Hall of Mirrors….not many Mentats escape being lost in there forever. The self of selves, with its infinite permutations…a fascination with the ego core, which left me uncaring of whether or not I escaped…

Even now, he had no idea how he had escaped the Hall of Mirrors. In all likelihood, he should have ended up a vegetable. Instead, he had met the final self. He had encountered the man who lay at the root of himself, and found that the root was not the beginning. Instinct had told him to follow the man, and led him back to the real world. Shaken by his dip into infinity, Adan had hesitated for weeks on the matter, and then asked his Mentat instructor, Thufir Hawat, to explain what had occurred to him. The grizzled old Master of Assassins had been shocked, but had then said, "Young Master, what you have done is recorded sparsely in the history of our order, but in effect, you have discovered the ancestor who created your self of selves through his own actions." 

Moving quickly to his assigned seat, Adan sat with other esteemed members of House Atreides; the swashbuckling Warmaster Gurney Halleck, the Duke's Bene Gesserit mother, Lady Jessica, his pre-born sister Alia, the ducal concubine Chani and others who had survived the wrath of House Harkonnen. Chalice followed him to his seat, and sat near him. Sitting behind Gurney, he muttered, "Have I missed the show, Gurney-man?"

Gurney turned to him, his inkvine scar earned in a Harkonnen slave pit creased by the devil-may-care smile. An ugly lump of a man, Gurney was one of the greatest knife-fighters in the Imperium, with a head full of songs and quotations for any occasion, and a talent for the baliset. For years, Adan had pestered the man over whether or not Gurney was talented enough kill a man while singing, and Gurney had finally proven on the plains of Arrakeen that he was, singing a bawdy little ditty while gutting Harkonnen mercenaries and Imperial Sardaukar.

"Not much, you young imp. The Emperor hasn't yet begun the festivities. And what are you doing here, anyway? I'd have thought you'd be in charge of the security detail."

Adan grinned. "I have to let the Fedaykin earn their keep, don't I? Just because they bested Shaddam's Sardaukar doesn't mean they should get complacent, especially with me around."

Little Alia spoke, the soft lisp of a child contrasting sharply with her words. "Overconfidence caused Shaddam's downfall. Will it cause yours, Bashar?"

Adan smirked. He'd been as surprised as any to have such a young child speak so far beyond her years, but he'd come to accept the curiosity. As he understood it, an overdose of the spice essence by the Lady Jessica resulted in her acquisition of not only her own Other Memory, but the awakening of Alia to all the lives within while still in her mother's womb. Adan chose to accept this, and treated Alia as a woman, rather than a child. "Gentle Alia, your sharp words are but music to your unworthy vassal's ears. Were you not my overlord's sister, I would think it love."

Alia giggled at his outrageous flattery, correctly catching the subtle word play. Since he was already otherwise spoken for, Adan had as much said that sometimes a loyal vassal would indulge his lady to no end. Before he could continue to speak, a brazen Imperial fanfare sounded.

All heads turned to the massive double doors, which Adan had helped Paul design. The whole of the palace was an architectural marvel, combined with the subtleties of Bene Gesserit wiles. The chambers doors were eighty meters tall, half that in width. Massive though they were, they opened smoothly and silently, indicative of the Ixian technology used for the task. The space was massive, large enough to contain the entire citadel of any ruler of human history. Trusses, pillars, the domed ceiling far over hear, the supports keeping everything in place were an artistic and subtle marvel, surpassing anything ever attempted in history. 

Adan measured the minutes required to reach the throne at the end, aware of what subtle gaucherie it had been made for. The long walk gave time for you to be cowed. You might start as a human of dignity—at least, by the Bene Gesserit definition—and end the walk as less than an animal, a mere insect to be stepped on. The long walk dictated by the regal pace also gave Paul time to intimidate the Great and Minor Houses gathered for the coronation. The graceful stride common of Bene Gesserit training, the honor guard of Fremen Naibs and his own Imperial Fedaykin—Death Commandoes—and the black and green Atreides colors pounded the untrained psyches of all those present. By the time the Duke sat down, Adan thought wryly, they'd be too afraid to sneeze, for fear his wrath would fall on them. Of course, the Jihad he'd begun against Shaddam would soon expand to cover them all in blood, in the name of Muad'dib.

After an interminable amount of time, Paul finally reached the throne. The intimidated nobles scarcely dared breath, and Adan made several quick gestures in Atreides battle language. It's about time! I was wondering how long he was going to toy with them.

Gurney smiled wolfishly, then responded, Ay, the young imp is something of a show-off. But the show is really going to heat up now. You'd best get to your place.

Adan moved quickly, removing himself to his place in the ceremony, and once he reached his position, focused on the subtleties of the throne itself, well aware of how much arguing and effort had been done to get make the effect perfect. The green throne, aglow with internal light, suggested growing things, but out of Fremen mythos reflected the mourning color. The tapestries behind the throne, cascades of burnt orange, gold, and cinnamon flecks of mélange compounded with two sconces burning mélange incense into the air, completed the symbol of unbridled power.

The Fedaykin and Fremen Naibs moved up the throne with Muad'dib, then split into two rows, each going to opposite sides of the throne, subtle in the way they reinforced the Duke's power without dwarfing him. After a short pause, Irulan and Stilgar came, escorted by important Fedaykin lieutenants and Atreides vassals, and walked toward the Duke, seated on the Imperial throne, yet not Emperor. Irulan Corrino, sister to Chalice, daughter of Shaddam, and wife of Paul Atreides, walked with the peculiar glide of the Bene Gesserit. Proud, and even more beautiful than her sister, she seemed confident in herself, though it was well-known in the Atreides inner circle that she did not share the Duke's bed. She had been a mere means to an end, and no doubt resented it. 

Soon, Stilgar and Irulan reached the throne, and bowed to Paul. Irulan carried the glittering crown of the Padishah Emperor atop a glided pillow of merh-silk and precious metal threads. At the top of the dais, she kneeled, and held the crown before her. The Fedaykin lieutenants and Atreides vassals had lined the throne, hammering again the fact that they were men of power who supported the Duke. Adan impassively watched the next part of the ceremony, which he knew, thanks to his renegade Bene Gesserit training, would not go as planned. 

As planned, the proud Naib of Sietch Tabr lifted the Imperial crown from the pillow, and approached Muad'dib. As Stilgar prepared to crown him Emperor of a Million Worlds, Paul moved with the blinding speed of the Bene Gesserit, seizing the crown from Stilgar's hands, and placing it on his own head. The action, pure bravura, sent silent shockwaves throughout the audience. Adan hid a smile as he considered what Paul had done.

Never in Imperial history had an Emperor seized that diadem and placed it on his own head. Always before, the Emperor had been just one sizable force in a universe of them, including the Landsraad and their substantial holdings, the Spacing Guild with its monopoly on space travel, CHOAM and its economic stranglehold, and the Bene Gesserit with their secrets. Being crowned by others had always signified that the Emperor ruled at their sufferance. But the power the new Emperor possessed far outweighed that of his predecessors, for Paul had the power to destroy the spice that all of those other factions required to survive, and thus, he was now the greatest power in the universe. The subtleties of his other actions soon bombarded the Landsraad rabble. The deposed Shaddam's own daughter had brought the crown, and now kneeled before him, something no Corrino had done in over ten millennia. The Fremen who had given this Emperor his power had been stripped of the crown they had thought to grant him, reminded that this Emperor ruled as he saw fit, not by their standards.

Turning the blue-within-blue eyes that shouted his addiction to the spice to envelop the whole audience, the black-haired Emperor began to speak. "Once more, the drama begins."

Adan had gestured sharply for Stilgar to kneel, and the surprised Naib had obeyed without thought, for once. No one noticed Adan's action, but they all discerned that Paul alone stood. Once his words, carried by hidden speakers to every corner of the chamber, had impacted their fragile minds, Adan was sure he could hear their brittle egos shatter.

Paul resumed speaking, the potent tones of Voice hammering the unprotected psyches of all these would-be power brokers. "I am the Padishah Emperor Paul-Muad'dib Atreides. Three years past, I seized this throne from Shaddam IV and his Sardaukar legions. My powers are beyond your frail ken. By the manipulations of the Bene Gesserit, I am the Kwisatz Haderach, from whom time cannot conceal the future. I am a net in the sea of time, free to sweep future and past. I am a moving membrane from whom no possibility can escape." 

Adan grunted, unmoved. While he accepted that Paul's gift for foreseeing the future was exemplary, he knew full well that not everything was revealed to a prophet. Paul had as much told him in private. 

"Yes, Adan, you are correct. I cannot see everything."

"Then what can you not see? I'll immediately remove any threats."

"Ah, can you? I cannot see other oracles. I can see where they have been, and where they will go, but I do not see them. Nor can I see those who are theirs. Nor can I see you."

Adan, shocked, had demanded, "Surely my Lord does not think I would betray him!"

"Do you know the story of Judas Iscariot, Bashar Adan Cepeda?"

Confusion had suppressed outrage. "Judas…Iscariot? I've never heard of this man. Who is he?"

Paul had smiled. "He's in here, in my memories." An odd tap of the forehead followed the statement. "We're all descended from people who committed actions that we loathe to admit. There is no escape -- we pay for the violence of our ancestors."

"My Lord? I do not understand."

"Judas Iscariot is one of my ancestors. I can recall his memories, his anguish. Many millennia ago, during the Golden Age of Earth, he betrayed a holy man, though he did not know it was betrayal then. The holy man was wanted by religious authorities for heresy, though I suppose it was not true heresy. Judas accepted a bounty of thirty silver pieces to lead them to the holy man. The same night he was to lead them, the holy man, who had the gift of prophecy I believe, declared that Judas would betray him. He did nothing to stop Judas, who believed in him totally and had taken an action that he would not approve of. Judas led the authorities to the holy man, and he was taken away."

"Are you saying that I will betray you, My Lord? How? And when? I'd rather fall on my own blade than sacrifice you to your enemies!"

"Ah, Adan, you listen, but you do not hear. I see you in the river of Time, but you sometimes fade from my view. When you fade, I sense violence that I do not approve of, but that you have taken for my good. But fear not. Your violence will not cause my downfall, but the downfall of many of my religious authorities."

Adan was not satisfied, and had boldly demanded, "And what happened to Judas Iscariot? What was his fate?"

"When he learned that the holy man would be executed in the most cruel, barbaric manner of the time, he attempted to return the money to rescue the holy man. When that failed, he threw the money at the authorities, and went off and hanged himself, grief-stricken at his crime."

Adan exited his memories, and returned to listening to Paul, who was still condemning the rabble.

"If a child, an untrained person, an ignorant person, or an insane person incites trouble, it is the fault of authority for not predicting and preventing that trouble. Often, the instigator goes unpunished, so that they may learn from their actions, and the authority shows kindness. But remember! Kindness if the beginning of cruelty. When the subject learns of the kindness, they will push to allow themselves to commit the same trouble, and the authority will then have no choice but to commit Istislah."

Istislah, a rule for general welfare, and a preface to a brutal necessity. Adan knew that Paul was getting them to agree with his view, and that soon, the Qizara Tafwid, those religious authorities Adan held in contempt, would be loosed on them. Quite a few planets would rebel, and Atreides Legions would fight alongside Fremen Fedaykin to subdue the rebels, allowing the Qizara Tafwid to pacify them for the religion they had built around the Lisan al'Gaib. Already, subtle signals indicated that the Imperium was ready to rebel, and rather than force himself into the situation he'd described, Paul would loose the Jihad on them, subduing them. Even now, Adan wondered what future Paul had seen that would make it necessary to take such extreme measures.

"This Imperium has fallen too long into the shadow of evil! As I removed House Corrino from the throne for its savagery, I shall purge this empire with the fires of righteousness!"

When religion and politics ride in the same cart, when that cart is driven by a living holy man, nothing can stand in its path. Yes, that piece of Bene Gesserit Coda certainly sums the situation up. And thus begins the deluge of bloodshed.

As expected, Atreides allies stood up and cheered, while the traditional enemies of House Atreides and its vassals remained conspicuously silent. Adan was especially pleased to note that the Baron Harkonnen and the Duke Vidal, both enemies of Houses Atreides and Cepeda, had not moved. They will be the first on the list of targets for my legion.

Finished with his speech, the Emperor led the way out of the chamber, and the other nobles followed. Adan knew full well that no small number of them would leave right after the celebratory banquet, and the war would begin. It was just a matter of formality. And despite all the Bene Gesserit platitudes and Swordmaster virtues about war and battle, he couldn't help but feel excited. _Truly, we live in interesting times!_


End file.
